"What do you think of these Paulette dresses, young lady. I don't expect you to say that they're pretty rotten. But do they satisfy the eye?"
"I think, Mrs. Jerome, that if they don't satisfy the eye, they'll at least astound it."
Mrs. Jerome brightened up at once.
"Well, child," she said, "when I want to astound people, I'll do it on less money than a Paulette gown costs. I'll walk around Columbus Circle in my bathing suit."
"Oh, I'll bet you do it, too," said Janet, at the top of her exuberance.
"Do what?" said Mrs. Jerome, now totally oblivious of the manikins on exhibition and of Cornelia on pins and needles.
"Wear a bathing suit around the house. I used to, regularly. In the tenements in Kips Bay I always did the dishes in my bathing suit. Annette Kellerman tights, a skirt to the knees, no sleeves, no stockings. A dandy rig-out for quick action."
"Permit me to say, Janet—" began Cornelia, in frigid, authoritative tones.
Mrs. Jerome impatiently waved her away, an indignity so astounding that Madame Paulette could scarcely trust her eyes. Janet, fearing she had been indiscreet, hastened to add:
"Of course, Cornelia—Madame Paulette—doesn't allow it in Paris. She requires us to be perfectly proper here."